
//^ 



A Moral Drama 



From Slavery to Citizenship; 



AND, 



From tlie Cotton FieMs to \^mi\m Pi™. 

By C. S. smith, ipU 

EX-MEMBER OF THE ALABAMA LEGISLATURE. 






CAST OF CHARACTERS, 



UNCLE BILLY Religious and Forgiving. 

Col. JONES and WIFE Warlike and Bitter. 

JANE AND JOE Mischievous and Comical. 

SCHOOL MISTRESS True and Faithful. 

AUNT MARIA Dry and Amusing. 

BALD EAGLE ORATOR Eloquent and Determined. 

POMPEY JONES Loyal AND Daring. 

HEZEKIAH Earnest and Musical. 

[Copyright applied for.] 



TMP96-007172 



A Moral D 



ORAL JURAMA. 



From Slavery to Citizenship; 



AND, 



from tlie Coitoii Mt to GrassliOier Plaias. 



By C. S. smith, 
ex member of the alabama legislal ure. 



ACT J. 



[Part I. — Scene. — The ^^laves' niiduighr, mteting. PJace, a 
swamp; hour, midiiighr, and no light hut a siugle torch. 
Position on the stage, extreme rear. An iuf-urrection jjro- 
posed by the jouug men, but Uncle Bil]y perbuadei* il)tm lo 
forbear.] 

Speaker No. 1. — Fellow sarvantw, I say dat ole mat=sa is 
'giunin' to be too cruel. He u.-*ed to treat >ks f^ort ob halfway 
right, but eber since dey hung massa Jt»hii Browu he's got so dat 
he hardly 'lows us to speak to one annuder. He wool let ushab 
no meetin', not ebeu a prawer meelin'; an' he tells us dat we 
mustn't pray any more. Now, I tell you dat I'se g«-ttin' ujighty 
tired of dis here ting, and for one I'se in tor doiu' as dey did in 
Kayti. 

A Voice. — How was dat ? 

No. 1. — Why de slavts got up a resurrection and murdered 
all de white folks. 

Voice. — How do you know ? 

No. 1. — Kase I hear massa talking to de oberseer about it 
one day. 

Speaker No. 2. — Well, if dat am so, dat's jis what I'm in 
fabur of us doing. Kill de white folks, I say. Kill 'em and 



take all Har land. Dey raout as well die as us, for dey're kiilin' 
us l)y inches, any vvay. • 

Spkaker No. 3.— I say kill 'em, too. We ain't got no guns, 
bet we can take de shovel and de hoe, and go to dey're houses 
when dey're aslff^p, and knock dem in de head. 

Several Voices.— Kill 'em ! Kill 'eu> ! And let's do it 
dis here wery night. Let's start, and de Lord dat tout for Israel 
will fiirht for us. 

[Uncle Biliy addresses them thus:] 

Chil'ren, mo.^t ob you am young, and y( u ain't bore de bur-' 
den and heat ob de day like deole man, and I w.ant you to listen 
to all dat I hab got to say. 

You say, kill massa and missis, and take dey're land. Now 
dat ain't right. And you say dat de Lord will fight for us. But 
you're mistaken. You see you can't read de Bible like de ole 
man can. De Lord say, lub your enemies and pray for dey 
dat spitefully persecute you. Moreober, He say, in dis world ye 
shall hab tribulation, but be ob good cheer, I hab obercome de 
world. De fust shall be last, and de last shall be fust. I know 
dat ole massa's got mighty mean and dat we hab hard trials and 
tribulations. But we must bar dem if we say dat we's de childer- 
en ob de Lord. Why, dey crucified de Sabiour and nailed him 
to de cross, and yet, like a dumb lamb, he opened not his mouf 
Now, we's to be like Him, and you know He say, when dey smite 
de right cheek, turn to dem de oder also. Why, dey hab been 
smitin' me for lo dese many years, and yet I wouldn't hurt a hair 
ob ole massa's head. It won't do, childeren. Listen to de ele 
man, and let's go home and pray for de angel to come down and 
shake our dungeon as he did in de days ob Paul and Silas. De 
ole man is growin' feeble and he'll soon be gone, and I'se got to 
say, dat dey may beat upon my body, but dey cannot harm de 
soul ; I'll jine de forty t'ousand by and by. De good Lord send 
me news from heben de oder night. 

Voices. — What am it ? > 

Uncle B. — Why de angel Gabr'el 'veals it to me howdar's 
gwine to be a mighty war in dis here land, and dat de Lord's 
gwine to lead us out ob de house ob bondage, as he did de chil- 
deren ob Israel. 

Voices. — Good! BressdeLord! Do you tink dat will 
be soon. Uncle Billy ? 

Uncle B. — Yes, I tink it will come to passeben in my day, 
and dat's why I say let's go home and work, and wait de coming 
ob de Lord. 

Voices. — All right ! 

Uncle B. — But, childeren, before we go let us kneel in se- 
cret prawer, and den sing dat good old song, " Keep me from 
sinking down." 

{Curtain falls.) 



PART II. 

[ScENF. — Southern hcmie. CoDversatioc between a planter and 
his wife. Time, evening. Planter returns from city, enters 
parlor with an excited appearance, takes a newspaper from 
his pocket and begins to read. He is followed by his wife, 
when the following conversation ensues :] 

Wife. — Good evening, my dear. I'm glad to see you, as tea 
is ready. 

Planter. — W e-1-1, I don't feel much like eating tea. 

W. — Why, what's the matter? Are you sick? 

P. — Sick ? I'm worse than sick. ' 

W. — O my dear, what's the matter ? 

P. — Well, sit down and I will try and tell you. [Wife sits 
down.] There's going to be a war. 

W.^War! Where? 

P. — In this country. 

W. — Why, who is there in this country to go to war ? 

P. — This morning's papers predict a war between the North 
and South. For a long time, as you know, a lot of Yankee devils 
have been trying to stir up a fuss about the South holding 
slaves. 

W. — Well, what is that to their business ? 

P. — Nothing ; but the infernal wretches are trying to make 
it their bu*iiness, and seeking to interfere wilh our constitutional 
rights. Our men are insulted in Congress, branded as a set of 
heartless wretches, and charged with having no humane feelings 
for the slaves. 

W. — What impudence! 

P. — You see these Yankees had slaves themselves once, but 
it was too cold for the niggers up North, and so they were shipped 
down South and sold to us, and now we are invited to set them 
free ; but we'll never do that until the last drop of Southern 
blood has been shed. 

W.— Well, my dear, I guess they're just trying to scare us ; 
but, you know, they can't do that. 

P. — No, they're not trying to scare us, and they intend to 
take our slaves from us if they can ; but by the powers of heaven 
they'll never succeed in doing that. 

W.— What do they intend to do ? 

P. — They're going to split the Union and form a govern- 
ment of our own by the formation of all the Southern States in- 
to a confederacy. 

W.— Good ! That's just what ought to be done, and they 
ought to hang every sneaking Yankee that's caught in it. 

P.— You needn't fear but what we'll do that. I was going 
to send to Kichmond for some more slaves, but I have concluded 



to wait and see what is going to be the result of the present agi- 
tation. . 

W. — I would not wait, my dear. I would send for them. 
We need some right away, if we're going to stock the new plan- 
tation. 

P. — Yes, I know ; but I've received a circular to-day which 
has been sent to all the large slaveholders, advising them not to 
invest any more money in slaves or other property at present, 
but to keep it in hand, lest it be needed for war purposes. 

W. — But, my dear, do you really think there's going to be 
a war? 

P. — Yes, it is bound to come. The Southern representatives 
are going to resign their seats in Congress, and it is known to a 
few that a meeting will soon be held to plot secession. 

W. — Is there no way to prevent it? War is a terrible thing, 
you know. 

P. — There is only one way, and that is for us to submit to 
Yankee tyranny, and give up our slaves. 

W. — Give up our slaves ? Never! How could we get along 
without them ? Who would raise our cotton and corn, and wash 
and cook, and do our house-wcrk? Do the Yankees think that 
refined and delicate Southern women can do these things? Why 
the idea of such things fills me with indignation. I would cut 
the heart-strings out of the Yankees before these delicate hands 
should go into the wash-tub. O, the thought of it makes me sick! 

P. — Hush ! I thought I saw some one peeping from behind 
the door just now. 

[Jane enters.] 

Jane. — Massa, supper am ready. 

P. — Have you been standing at the door listening? 

J. — Why, la me ! no, matsa, I jis come from de kitchen. 

P. — Well, you go back there and w^ait until we come. 

[Exit Jane.] 

W. — I'll tell you, ever since these niggers heard about old 
John Brown they've got mighty sly, and we'll have to be careful 
what we say when they're around. 

P. — Knock the first one down you catch listening, or send 
them to me and I'll fix them so they won't listen any more, 

W. — Wouldn't you like to have a hot toddy before supper ? 

P. — I would rather have some of the peach brandy I brought 
home last week. 

W. — Well, I'll have some brought. [Rings bell. Joe, the 
house-boy, enters.] Joe, get your master some peach brandy out 
of that new demijohn which sits on the bottom shelf of the side- 
board. 

Joe. — Yes, marm. [Goes.] 

P. — I'm going to attend a meeting this evening, when Fll 
learn more about the reports that have been received to day. [Joe 



enters with waiter, etc.] You neeihi't wain fVir these thitig^s ; you 
caij come after thetu while we are at supper. [Exit Joe.] 

W. — Say, niy Hear, I want to i?how you the new bonnet I 
received t<> Hay. [Takes bonnet from box and puts it on.] I?n't 
it a beauty ? 

P. — Indeed it is, and it makes > nn iodk veiy ban(],-ome. 
But here! 1 want to ask you a quesfion. Would }{»u rather that 
we should uo to war than j^ive up our t-ilaves ? 

W. — Yes, my dear, yes! Anyihiujj: to keep our &]«ves. But 
if it comes to that, there won't be mu(^h of a war, as I have al- 
ways heard pa shv that (»:e Southern boy couhl whip a dizen 
blue- bid lied Yankees. f 

P. — Well, don't be uneasy. Keep close watch over the ser- 
vants that are around, and be caretul not to menri((n any <'f these 
matters in their hearing. Lmi's go to supper. [Exeunt] 

[Joe enters, tbliow^'d by Jane.] 

Jane. — O, Joe! Great day ! What (io yo' tink ? I done 
heard raassa and mis>is say dat dar's gwine to be a war, anri dat 
de Yankees am gwine to set us free. 

Joe. — Go way, nigger, wid your foolin'. 

Jane. — I declare 'fore God I did, and missis say dat we 
done ifot awful sly here ob late. 

Joe. — Am dat really so? 

Jane. — It am, sure's y<.u 're burn. 

Joe. — Did }ou hear what Uncle Billy say de oder night 
at de meetin' ? 

Jane. — No ! what am it ? 

Joe. — Well, ^ome ob dem wanted to raise a resurrerfiiui and 
kill nias.sa and missis ; but he tell dem nor. to do it, tore we're 
soon gwine to be free, kase de x\ngel Gabriel 'veal it to him dat 
dare's gwine to be a mighty war in dis heie land, and dat God's 
gwine to bring us out ob He hou.-e ob bondage like he did He 
children ob Israel. 

Jane. — Dat am so; fur dat's jis what massa and nii.-sis talk 
about dis ebeuin', an' I hears dem, fur I was standin' at de door 
listenin', atid raassa tinks he sees me, and I tell bin) I hears nuf- 
fin' — dat I jis come from de kitchen. Glory to God ! And I 
hear missis say she gets sick when she tinks if we get free maybe 
she hab to gi> in de wash-tub. 

Joe. — Yes, and massa hab to hoe de cotton and de corn. O, 
won't dat be glorious ? 

Jane. — How does I look in missis' bonnet ? [Takes bciunet 
from table ar\d puts it on.] 

Joe. — Yes, and how does I look wid massa's hat on ? [Puts 
on massa's high hat, and both prora-nade before the mirror.] 

Jane. — Dis am de kind ob bonnet I'm gwine to hab when 
I get free. 

Joe. — Yes, and I'm gwine to hab a hat jis like dis. Won't 



6 

we be gemrac'D and ladies den. [Jane swings ar( und and say?, 
"Shoo, ain't I some pumpkins?"] Let's promenade here on mis- 
sis' carpet. [Thev lock arms and promenade. Joe attempts to 
steal a kiss from Jane and receives a slap in the mouth.] Look 
here, nigcj;er, if it wasri't for missis' bonnet, I'd mash dat head oh 
yours. Better take dat bonnet off anyway 'fore you fill it wid 
lice. 

Jane. — You 's a fool. I washes my head and I greases it 
wid coon fat ebery moruiug. I got some 'fumery, too, dat uiy 
sweetheart brings me. 

Joe. — Say, who is yo' sweetheart ? 

Jane. — None o' yo' business. 

Joe. — I knows. It am old Sam Sleekemchop, and he's got 
a mouf as big as a corn-crib. 

Jane. — You 's a liar, Joe, and I'll mash dat chicken roost 
ob yours. [Strikes at Joe's nose, but Jue dodges, and massa's 
hat falls off. He picks it up, and they both look at it to see if it 
is soiled. It is all right, and they make friends by Jane kissing 
Joe. They promenade.] 

Jane. — Joe, when I tinks dat we 's gvvine to be free I feels 
like shoutin'. 

Joe. — You 'd better not — massa hear you. 

Jane. — Dey 're coming. 

Joe — [Pours out a glass of brandy and hands it to Jane.] 
Here, nigger, drink dis quick. [Helps himself, and they both 
skip out.] 

[Planter enters and rings for Joe, who comes in.] 

Planter. — Joe, I'm going to lie down on the sofa a while, 
and I want you to keep the flies off of me. [Lies down, and Joe 
gets a fly-brush and obeys the order.] 

[Planter's wife enters suddenly and hands him a dispatch, 
which he opens and reads.] 

Planter. — Joe, you may go. [Exit Joe. Planter springs 
to his feet.] Great heavens ! Fort Sumter has been fired upon, 
and [ am requested to report immediately at Richmond. 

Wife.— [Excitedly] What ! You don't tell me ? 

P. — Yes, it is so. Read this. [Hands her the dispatch.] 
Well, I must get ready to go to Richmond. 

W. — What? You going to Richmond, and leave me here. 

P. — Yes, I am bound to go. 

W. — Well, my dear, before you go you had better make ar- 
rangements to have the field servants sent to Mississippi to uncle, 
for if the Yankees should reach here they will certainly take 
them away. 

P. — Well, I'll see about it. Go and have my valise packed 
and get Joe ready to go with me, while I go and see the over- 
seer. 

{Ourtain falls.) 



PART in. 

[Recruiting offioe scene. Three colored individuals enter and ask 
the (ffficer if any more troops are wanted.] 

Officer (savagely).— Yes; but what do you suppose we 
want with you coons ? Don't you know that this is a white man's 
fight, and that we don't want any niggers in it? 

Bill. — Well, you needn't talk so saucy about it. 
O. (angrily.")— Look here, you skedaddle out of here, or I'll 
give you ray boot. [Exeunt hurriedly.] 

O. to Kxaminer.— The idea of niggers talking about fight- 
ing. Who ever knew a nigger to fight any thing but Sl ham 
bone ? 

Ex. — Yes, but maybe they would do some pretty good fight- 
ing now, as they think they would be helping to free their race 

O. — Free their race! That's not what we are fighting for, 
and if I thought it was I would never raise my hand to help the 
government We're fighting for the Union. 

Ex. — Yes, I know ; hut after all it will result in the eman- 
cipation of the slaves. O, say, did you read in the Tribune this 
morning about our forces being pushed ; and I'll tell you if things 
don't change speedily we'll have to call on the niggers or some 
one else to assist us. 

O. — Yes, I read that, and things do look rather gloomy. I 
wonder what message this is now. [Boy enters and hands the 
oflScer a message.] 

O. reads and says : — The devil ! It's instructions to enlist 
colored troops. [Colored individuals have heard the news and 
return.] 

Bill. — Wall, I reckon you'll enlist us now. 

O. — Yes, but you'll have to be examined first. Come up 
here and pull off your coats, and let this man [pointing to Ex- 
aminer] sound you. 

B. — What does he want to sound us for ? 

O. — According to the law a man has to be of a certain age, 
hight, and sound in body and mind. 

B. — Well, I reckon I's sound enough. 

O. — Well, we'll soon see. [Examiner first inspects Bill.] 
Will he do ? 

Ex.— No. 

B. — What's de matter wid me ? 

Ex. — Why, your mouth is too big. It would take too many 
hard tack to feed you. 

FNext, Jim.] 

O.— Will he do? 

Ex.— No. 

Jim. — Well, what's de matter wid me ? 



8 

Ex. — Your feet are too big. If the rebels were to ^et after 
you you couldn't run fast enough. • 

[Next, Sam.] 

O.— Will he do? 

Ex.— No. 

Sam. — What's dat you say ? AVhat's de matter wid me ? 

Ex. — You're cock-eyed. You couldu't shoot straight. 

Bill. — Well, I suppose you ain't gwioe to 'list us. 

O. — No ; we can't. You don't come up to the standard. 

B. — Look here, white man. You didn't want us in de fust 
place. [Exeunt, growling.] 

O. — Those niggers are mad. 

Ex. — They would make red hot soldiers. Did you notice 
the fellow that had only one sleeve to his shirt? 

O. — Here comes another one. 

[Forlorn colored individual enters and seems to have got in- 
to the wrong place.] 

O. — Halloo ! Sam. Come here. Don't you want to enlist ? 

S.— 'List ! What for, massa ? 

O. — To fight for your freedom. 

8. — What does you mean by dat ? 

O. — Why, to join the army, go down South and fight to 
free your race. 

S. — Me ? I don't go to races, fur I 's got no boss nor no 
money to bet on nobody else's boss. I 's awful poor, and I comes 
around to see if you wouldn't give me a penny to buy ginger 
bread. 

O. — I'm not talking about "hoss"-racing. I mean to go 
down South and fight for your people. 

S. — I aint got no people ; done dead long ago. 

O. — Well, fight f )r your aunts, and uncles, and cousins. 

S. — Aint got none ob dem, eder. Dey 's all dead, too. 

O. — You 're a fool, nigger. 

S. — Yes. Well, massa, do you tinks I could fight ? 

O. — I suppose so, if you wanted to. 

S. — Well, look here, massa, I tinks so, too. But did you 
eber see two dogs fighting for a bone ? 

O.— Yes. 

8. — Well, did you eber see de bone get up and fight? 

O. — No, you fool you. 

8. — Well, I 's de bone ob dis here war, I tell you. Now who 
's de fool ? [Sam. moves toward the door, and the officer throws 
an ink bottle after him.] 

O. — [To Examiner.] Well, after that sell, let's go and take 
a drink. [Exeunt.] 

( Curtain falls.) 



PART IV. 

[Scene. — Procession eiiteriDg place of meeting. Temporary pJat- 
forra decorated with flags, bunting, &c. Cheers rend the 
air as the crowd move toward the stand. Programme — 1, 
meeting called to order by the chairman ; 2, reading proc- 
lamation ; 3, oration by the " bald eagle " orator, George 
Washington Fitzsimmons ; 4, song, " Shout, we are free," 
and dismissal.] 

Chairman. — Fellow citizens: We 's come to-day to cele- 
brate our deliberance from de house ob bondage. Pharaoh and 
his host hab been drownded in de Red Sea, while we hab cfossed 
ober, and like de childereu ob Israel we stand on Canaan's shore 
and shout — sound de timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea, Jehobah 
am triumphed; his people am free. [Cheers.] But I 's not 
gwine to deliber a 'ration. Brudder Simmons is gwine to do dat. 
I only gits up here to make a few 'liminaries, and to see dat all 
tings am right in de 'ginnin'. I hope you'll all aib good 'tention 
and listen to what's gwine to be said. Miss Julia, de school 
teacher, will now read de news from massa Lincum. [Miss Julia 
reads the proclamation of emancipation, which is received with 
tremendous cheering.] 

[The "bald eagle" orator is now introduced to deliver him- 
self as follows :] 

Ladies and gemmen : — It am a mighty task dat I is to 'form 
dis day. When I look upon dese flags and all dese happy people 
and 'members from whar we come, my throat chokes up wid el- 
oquence, and I can't find thought to 'spress my laugwidge. But 
hoping you will bar wid me I will try an' say somethin' wordy 
ob your 'memberance. Our faders told us dat dis day would 
come, and dis am de day for which dey prayed. I neber spected 
to lib to see it, but I t'auks God dat I am spawed to 'jice wid 
you dat freedom's come. [Cheers.] We's now free to go whar 
we please an' to come when we gits ready. When we work now 
we can eat de fruits ob our own labor, an' I hope dat we all will 
work. We hab nobody to do anything for us, and we must trab- 
bel de hard road ob Jordan for ourselbs. De white folks say 
dat kase we're free we'll starb to def. But am dat so? [Voices, 
No!] Can't we work now de same as we eber did ? [Voices, 
Yes!] I know dat. De white folks jis say dat kase dey're mad 
dat we am free. But we's gwine to lib and hab de promised 
land. [Voices, Amen !] De Lord hab said dat de fust shall be 
last and de last shall be fust. Well we's been last all de time 
and now we's gwine to be fust. [Voices, Yes, Lord !] We raised 
corn and cotton for massa, and we kin raise it for ourselbs. But 
massa says dat we shan't work his land — dat de Yankees done 
sot us free and dat dey can take care ob us. He say dat dey's 
gwine to bring de Jawmans, and de Weeds, and de Kanes to 



10 

raise de cotton, and gib us nuffin to do. Kut kin dey starb us? 
[Voices, No!] Dai's so ; kase we can hunt de 'possum'an' de 
coon, an' git de persimmons and blackberries, and lib on dem. 
De Jawmans an' de oder white folks won't stay her Jong, dough, 
tor de sun am too hot. [Voices, Dai's so !] Now, gemmens and 
ladies, I teJl you d<m'c let us link kase we am free dat we's got 
nufJBn to do. We must work an' try to eddicate our chillun an' 
hab a home ob our own. It we do dis de Lord will help us, de 
Yankees will be glad, an' ebeu ole raassa will come roun' after 
a while an' say you done better den I spected. In conclusion let 
me say dat de auction block, de bull whip, de oberseer an' de 
blood hounds am gone forebber. [Voices, Praise de Lord !] Dat 
we's no more to be separated from each udder, and to be beaten 
wid many stripes. Tiuk of dis: Dat when de sun is settin' be 
bin' de westawu hills, an' de jaybird goes to roost, an' de eagle 
spreads forth its wings, dat de poor black man, as well as de 
white man, cay say, sweet am de cup ob liberty. I t'anks you 
for your attention. [Great cheering.] 

Chairman. — Some ob de young folks wanted to hab a dance, 
but we's come to de conclusion not to hab it, as dis is a kind ob 
religion raeetin'. We will now be dismissed by marching 'round 
and singin' Brudder Joe's new song "Shout, we are free." 
( Curtain falls.) 

ACT II. 

[Parti. — Scene. — Schoolroom. Curtain rises. Mistress seated 
at desk — children playing in background. Bell is rung, 
school assembles. First class in arithmetic called to recite . 
During recitation a dilapidated individual enters. Is in- 
vited to sit down by the teacher, when the following col- 
loquy ensues :] 

Teacher. — I suppose you want to come to school. 

Gawk. — Yes, ma'am. 

T. — What is your name ? 

G. — George Washington Andrew Jackson Thomas Jeffer- 
son Josiah Johnson. 

T. — [Repeats the name.] That's a pretty long name. 

G. — Not very. 

T. — How old are you ? 

G. — Don't know. 

T. — Do you know when you were born ? 

G. — On Christmas, 'bout de time de stars fell. 

T. — Is that all you know about your age ? 

G. — Yes, ma'am, 'cept dat Aunt Mariah was dar when I 
was born. She can tell you. 

T. — Have you ever been to school ? 

G. — No ma'am. 



11 

T. — What book is that you have ? 

G. — A blue back speller. 

T. — Do you know your alphabet ? 

G. — Alferbet ? No, ma'aiu, I neber seen it. 

T. — I meau your ABC. 

G. — O yes, ma'am, I can spell way ober to baker. 

T.— You can ? 

G. — Yes, ma'am. 

T. — Who taught you to spell ? 

G.— Uncle John. 

T.— Well, spell baker. 

G. — B-a-k r, baker. ^ 

T. — Spell it again. 

G.— Ba-k-r. 

T. — That isn't right. B-a ba, k-e-r ker, is the way to spell it. 

G. — Well, dat's de way I spell it ; ba-k-r. 

T. — What letter is this ? [Pointing to B on the alphabet 
chart. 

G.— Dat ? 

T.— Yes. 

G.— Dat d. 

T. — Look again. 

G. — No ma'am, dat 's g. 

T.— No, that 's h. 

G. — Yes, ma'am ; yes, ma'am, dat 's so. 

T.— What letter is this ? (Pointing to /.) 

G. — Dat 's G. 

T. — Look again. 

G. — No, ma'am, dat 's r. 

T. — Well, I see you need to learn the alphabet. Now look 
here. [Calls over the names of the letters, which he repeats, and 
then shows him a seat and tells him to learn them. Class in 
spelling called up. Gawk studies too loud and is requested by 
the teacher to desist. He hasn't been accustomed to being con- 
fined and soon falls asleep. Tommy Jones sees him and sticks a 
pin into him, which causes him to spring up rather suddenly. 
The school is in an uproar.] 

Teacher (excitedly). — What 's the matter ? 

Gawk. — A bungle bee stung me. 

Mary Smith. — Tommy Jones stuck a pin in him. 

G. — [Slaps Tommy over the head with his book.] I won't 
stay wid such varmints. [Goes out, Tommy is reprimanded and 
order is restored.] 

[Enter Aunty and Uncle.] 

Teacher. — Glad to see you ; take seats. Well, I suppose 
you have come to visit our school. 

Aunty. — Not zackly dat, Miss Jane. Me an' de ole man 
has got no place to put our Sunday-go-to-meetin' does, an' so we 



12 

taut dat we 'd come roiin' an get you to write to Massa Grant 
fur our bureau ; an' when you writes we want you to telT him to 
send us a bureau wid a marble top an' a lookin'-glass. 

T. — I don't understand. Please explain. 

A. — Well, yo' see, Miss Jane, dey tells usdatde Freedmen's 
Bureau bill am passed, an' dat all we cullud people am gwiue lo 
git a bureau. 

T. — O, no ! That is not what it means. That was a law 
passed by Congress to establish schools for the education of the 
colored people in the South, and to appoint officers to protect 
them. President Grant hasn't any bureau to send you. 

A. — Well, ole man, did yo' eber since yo' was born ? Yo' 
see dat now, don't you ? Dese niggers roun' here tinks dey know 
a heap, but dey knows nuffin'. Dat 's jis like de forty acres ob 
land an' de mule. 

Uncle. — Well, I tells you not to come, but yo' would. So 
now let 's go home an' finish pickin' de cotton. 

[Aunty and Uncle rise to go, but stop when Mary Smith 
cries out.] 

Mary Smith. — Ba ! 

T.— What 's the matter, Mary ? 

M. 8. — Tommy Jones stole my 'possum an' eat it all up, so 
he did. 

T. — Tommy, come here ! [Puts a dunce cap on his head, 
and stands him on a chair, a proceeding which greatly amuses 
Aunty and Uncle.] 

A. — Look dare, ole man ! I 'clare 'fore God dat I wouldn't 
hab one ob dose tings on my head fur two bureaus. Dat 's right, 
Miss Jane; ef dese varmints don't mind you, you put de debil's 
bonnet on dem ebery time. [Exeunt Aunty and Uncle amid 
the laughter of the school.] 

T. — Well, children, it 's time for dinner. Close books and 
stand up. Now sing for me — "They Crucified My Saviour." 
{Curtain falls.) 

PART II. 

[Scene. — Midnight conclave of the K. K. K. Lights lowered. 
Assemble stealthily, each one alone. The Grand Cyclop 
presents the following communication to the faithful :] 

To the Grand Cyclop and faithful of sub- division 41, sec- 
tion 22. — Honored braves and bold defenders : Your attention 
is called to the existence of a nuisance in our community in the 
shape of a nigger school, which is taught by a very saucy wench, 
and we respectfully request you to abate said nuisance without 
delay, as the niggers have taken all the children and sent them 
to school, and we have no one to nurse for us or to wait upon us. 
Certified to by secret communicant 4-7-9. 



13 

G. C. — What is your will — warniug, whipping, or death ? 
If she shall be warned, give the sigu. [No sign given.] If she 
shall be whipped give the sign. [No sigu given.] If she shall 
be killed give the sign. [Sign given — a groan. Communication 
steeped in blood and burned, and the following order given.] To 
the vigilant here assembled : I command you to procetd forth- 
with to the dwelling place of a nigger wench named Julia Hay- 
den, and execute the decree of death, and damned be he who op- 
poses your way. Inspect ! [Each one examines his weapons and 
raises them as the sign of well prepared. Exeunt.] 

PART III. ^ 

[Scene before the cabin door. K. K. knocks heavily.] 

[From within.] — Who 's dar ? 

K. K. — Open and see. 

[From within.] — Who are you ? 

K. K. — Grand Signor Mousell, who was killed at the battle 
of Shiloh. 

[From within.] — What do you want? 

K. K.— Water. 

[Uncle Joe rises and opens the door, when he halloos out 
from fright.] 

K. K. — Don't be frightened, old man. Aint going to hurt 
you. I want some water, as I have had nothing to drink since I 
was at the battle of Shiloh. [Uncle Joe brings a dipper full.] 
Bring the bucket full and hold it before me that I may drink 
my fill. [Has a false pouch concealed, and while pretending to 
drink pours the water in it and so adds to the fright of Uncle 
Joe, who begins to think that the visitor is a ghost in fact.] Now 
where is the school teacher? 

U. J. — She not here. 

K. K. — You lie, you old black rascal, and if you don't bring 
her out [raises a pistol] I'll blow your brains out. 

Tkachioii. — [Awakened and understanding the situation.] 
Uncle Joe, come away — don't you get hurt. They want me. I 
have done nothing, and am willing to die if they want to kill me. 
Write and tell mother that I die for my God and my race. [She 
approaches the door, is shot, and falls back into the cabin.] O 
have mercy, God ! [Dies.] 

K. K. — [Again discharging his revolver, but in the air.] 
Ku Klux ! 

Other K. Ks. — [Seemingly stationed some yards apart and 
firing in the same way.] Ku Klux ! 

PART IV. 

[Scene. — Burial of the teacher, according to the old time way, 
in which the pupils participate. Her body is conveyed away 
amid the solemn sounds of "Hark ! from the Tomb," etc.] 
{Curtain falls.) 



14 
ACT III. 

[Part L — Political meeting. Discord and tumult. Tne strug- 
gle for a heariDg. Eloquence of the " bald eagle" oraior:] 

A VorcE. — I move dat Uncle Billy take de cha'r. [Motion 
seconded and carried.] 

Voice. — I moves dat Jim Jones be sekcted fur to keep de 
rainits. 

Voice. — Mr. Cha'rmau, Jim Jones cant keep de minuK , 
fur he isn't got no watch. 

Chairman. — De motion means to seltci: Jim Jones to write 
down de proceedings. 

Voice — Yes, sah ; all right. 

Chairman.— Gem men, what's de object oh dis meetin'. 

Pompey Smith. — Mr. Cha'rman, de object ob dis meetin' 
is to get up a 'tition to send to Congress to hab de cibil rights 
bill passed. 

Bob Gleed. — Mr. Cha'rman, I moves to lay dat motion un- 
der de table. 

Ben Royal. — Ye-?, an' I moves to frow it out ob de winder. 

Pompey S. — Mr. Cha'rman, dats de way ebery time we meet 
we gits up a confusion. Now, sah, we's bin asked to sign a 'ti- 
tion to help 'long de bill. Senator Spencer says dat de moah 
names goes in de stronger de cause, an' I don't see why we can't 
come togedder and sign de 'tition an' stop so much fooliu'. 

Voice. — Dere s nuffin' 'fore de house. 

Pompey S. — Hush your mouf, I's got de floor. I say dat if 
we hab any respec' for our wives and chillun, we should hab dis 
bill. We pays as much monf.y as de white folks for our ticket, 
but when we gits on de train dey puts us in de Jim Crow car, 
an' dey won't gib us nufSn to eat at de hotel unless we go to de 
kitchen, an' den de cook vv^ill try to spoil all our good close wid 
greasy dish water. Now, I say dat one dollar am as good as an- 
oder dollar, an' dat a man ought to hab his money's wuf an' git 
what he pays for. I hopes dat we'll pass de bill. 

Voice. — Mr. Cha'rman, what's 'fore de house? 

Voice. — Anything you wants to bring here. 

Chairman. — Order, gemmen. 

Voice. — I say, Mr. Cha'rman, what's 'fore dis house? 

Voice. — Sit down. 

Bald Eagle Orator. — Gemmen, let's act like white folks. 
Some ob us am hard to understan'. De question is, wedder we 
shall sign a 'tition for de cibil rights bill or not. Now, Mr. 
Cha'rman, I hab bin thinkin' about dis matter a heap, an' I tell 
you dat I hab come to de conclusion dat we had better leave dat 
bill alone. In de fust place, sah, what good am it gwine to do 
us. If de white folks don't want us to ride in de same car wid 
dem dey will shut de door, an' what can we do ? Eben if de 



15 

bill am pa.ssefl dey hab got all de law an' de judges an' de juries, 
an' de money, an' if you take a case in court dey will frow it out.. 
Now, some folks tinks dat we can sue 'em an' git heaps ob money, 
but I tells yo' dat dat's no account. We bab got along very 
well an' dar's no use trying to walk 'fore we crawl. If we feign 
de 'tition de white folks will t'ink we want to stick ourselbs in 
dey're houses an' court dey're darters, [Voice, Don't care wha: 
dey t'ink.] an' sit up in dey're pawlors, an' de fust t'ing we know 
dar be a fuss an' we'll had anodder war. [Voices, Sit down.] I 
ain't irwine to do it. [Voices, Put him out.] 

Chairman. — Order. [Voices, Make him sit down. He's ole 
white folks' nigger. Don't want to hear him.] 

Chairman.— Order ! Order! ' 

Voice. — Order yo'telf. Make dat nigger set down. He 's 
a Judas. 

Chairman. (Kising.) — Gem men, dis am a shame 'fore God, 
an' if vou don't keep quiet I 's gwine home. 

Voice. — Go, den. 

Bald Eagle Orator. — I moves we 'journ. 

PoMPEY Jones. — [Munching' a pie and rising.] I knows 
as much about de biography ob dis country as any man, an' I 
say dat we aint gwine to 'journ till we signs dat 'tition. 

B. E. O. — Look here, Pompey, I reckon yo' tinks yo' hab a 
felogical edicatiou, don't you ? 

P. — Ye>i, I have. 

B. E O. — Well, show nje some o' your gymnastics, den. 

P. — [Pulling off his coat and moving toward B. E. O. in a 
fighting attitude.] Squar' up, an' I'll show yo' dem. 

Chairman. — Stop, gem men, or I'll hab yo' 'rested. 

P. — [Pointing to B. E. O.] Dat nigger am a Democrat — a 
wolf in sheep's clothin'. 

B. E. O.— [Fiercely.] Mr. Cha'rman 1 

Voices.— Put 'im out. 

Chairman. — I 's gwine to speak or die. Dey say I'm a 
Democrat. 

Voices. — So yo' are. 

Chairman.— It am a lie. 'Fore I 'd be a Democrat I 'd 
cotch de sun by its fetlocks, soar fru de efereal regions, an'swink 
in de seas ob oblivion. [Great cheering, during which some one 
pulls his seat back, and he sits down on the floor, which causes 
the meeting to break up in great confusion.] 

PART II. 

[Colloquy on "De Cibil Rights Bill" between Josiah and Uncle 

Billy.] 

J.— Good mawnin'. Uncle Billy. You heard de news? 

B,._\yhat ? 'Bout de bustin' up ob de Freedmen's Sabin' 
Bank? 



16 

J. — No ! 'Bout de swivel rights bill. 

B.— What 'bout it ? • 

J. — Why, it am passed de Senate ob de 'Nited States wid- 
out a mumble. 

B. — Well, what good dat gwine lu ao us? 

J. — Why, yo' see, Uiicie Billy, vvo 'd gwino t,o be 'lowed to 
ride in de fust class car wid de whit,:, folk^, put our foots on de 
percushion, an' when de conductor com.- ''oug to ax us fo' our 
ticket, we's gwine to tell him to send to Vfashin'tun, dat de swiv- 
el rights bill am passed. 

B. — Am dat so, Josiah ? 

J. — Dat am so, Uncle Billy. And, Uncle Billy, we. 's gwine 
to be lowed to go to de fust class hotel, set at de head ob de ta- 
ble, whar we can git de biggest slices ob de ham an' de chicken, 
eat squall on toast, pick our teef wid a fedder, go in de pawlor, 
sit down on de sofia, sp t on de carpet an' hear de white gals 
play on de planner; an' when de 'prietor comes roun' wid his 
bill, we 's gwine to tell him to charge it to Massa Grant, dat de 
swivel rights bilJ am passed. 

B. — Go 'way, 'Siah ! Yo' are foolin'. 

J. — It am so, Uncle Billy. An' Uncle Bill, we 's gwine to 
send our childeren to de white folks school, whar dey larn ortog- 
rafy, emology, swinetax, hogany, Greek, Dutch an' Choctaw. 

B. — Great hebens ! Josiah, dat can't be so ? 

J. — It am so, Uncle Billy. An' Uncle Billy, when we die 
we's gwine to de grabe yard in de white folks' hearse, an' be put 
in a italic coffin wid a lookin'-glass ober our face, an' gwine to be 
buried on top ob de white folks, so dat in mawnin ob de resur- 
recshun when de Angel Gabriel comes along an' blows his trum- 
pet, he 's gwine to say "Toot-a-toot ! All ye cuUud gemmen rise 
fust !" 

B. — Josiah, you don't tell me so. 

J. — It am so. Uncle Billy ; and de perwisions ob dat bill — 

B. — What's dat you say, Josiah ? 

J. — De perwisions ob dat ar bill — 

B. — Stop dar, Josiah ! Say dat again. 

J. — AVell, as I was gwine on to tell you, de perwisions ob — 

B. — Stop right dar, Josiah ! Dat will do. If dar am any 
perwisions in dat dar bill, come along [takes hold of Josiah and 
moves out] and git me a sack ob flour right now, for I's hungry. 
(^Curtain falls.) 



PART III. 



[Exodus at the river bank. Waiting for the boat to take them 
to Kansas. General conversation and promiscuous move- 
ments are manifested, until Col. Jones appears with jug in 
hand and addresses them thus :] 



17 

Col. J. — Now, boys, look here ! There's no use of this. 
What in the world do you want to go way for ? Why, look 
here, you're not going to leave the old plantation, where we used 
to play together and have our good times? Let's talk this mat- 
ter over, for I don't think that you fully realize the disastrous 
results that will follow the step you are about to take. I thought 
once that I would say nothing to you, but in my dreams Jast 
night I saw you up North, standing out in the cold, shivering 
and almost starved to death ; and I was so impressed that I con- 
cluded to come down and have a friendly talk with you, and see 
if I couldn't persuade you not to go. I'm interested in your wel- 
fare, and always have been, but the Yankees care nothing about 
you. Some of you think that you're going to get a farm in 
Kansas, but you won't. Didn't the Yankees fool you once by 
telling you that they were going to give you forty acres of land 
and a mule. [A voice, Dat's so massa Jones.] And didn't they 
get you to put your money in a bank and then steal it all from 
you ; and didn't the carpet-baggers tell you that if you put them 
in office they would take away the white people's homes and give 
them to you. [A voice, dat's so, too, massa.] But did they do 
it ? No ! They robbed us all and filled their pockets and left 
you with the bag to hold. They took the turkey and gave you 
the buzzard. You can't trust a Yankee. He's as slippery as an 
eel. They say they set you free, and can't you see they want to 
get you North to work for them to pay for it. I know that you 
have had a hard time and haven't been treated right ; but I 
was at the Vicksburg convention and all the leading white men 
agreed to give all the colored people better wages, put down the 
Rifle Clubs and White Leaguers, and allow you to vote the same 
as we do. 

A Voice (pointing to the jug). — What's dat you got in dat 
lUg, massa ? 

Col. J.— Whisky. 

Voice. — Will you gib us some ? 

Col. J.— Of course I will. Come and help yourselves. 
Have you got anything to drink out of? 

Voice. — Yes, sah. [Hunts up the cups to drink.] 

Voice. — Dis am de bes' corn juice I drinks in a good while, 
massa. 

Col. J. — I wouldn't offer you anything but the best. How 
does that taste, Joe ? 

Joe. — Too good to tell you, massa. 

Col. J. resumes. — It was a grand convention at Vicksburg. 
I wish you could have seen how the white men and colored men 
locked arms, shook hands and sat together in the same seats. 

Jane. — Massa, would you lock arms wid me now ? 

Col. J.— Of course I would. [Takes her arm.] In that 
convention they resolved to bury the hatchet and be one hereaf- 



18 

ter. Times are getting better, cotton will be higher, and every- 
body will have plenty of money. 1 know there are sorae who 
say let you ^o, but it is only the j)()or trash, and you needn't caie 
tor them. A nigger always was b< tter than a poor white man. 
The men who own the land don't want you to go. [A voice, We 
knows dat.] And I doii't want you to go, and I am willing to 
do what's right by you if you'll stay. I will rent you land for 
ten dollars an acre and funii>h you meat at twenty-five cents a 
pound, and meal for a dollar a bushel. I will also let you have 
a garden spot to raise vegetables and won't charge you anything 
for it. You can also use my mules to haul your wood, and ride 
them to town once a month. Aint that fair ? 

Voice — Dat's what you eay, massa. 

Col. J. — Well, aint that what you sav, too ? 

Voice. — We's not got nufBn to say. AVe's gwine to Kansas. 

Col. J. (earnestly). — Yes, and you'll wish you were back 
here before six months. I've been up North and the sun don't 
shine there all day like it does here, and the colored people are 
a great deal worse off there than they are here. There are no 
Dutch and Irish here to keep you from getting work. You have 
all the work here to do. 

A Voice. — Dat's true. 

Col. J. — Of course it is, and that's why I want you to stay. 

Voice. — We's done gone bawt our tickets. 

Col. J. — Well, never mind that. If you will agree to stay 
I'll give you what you paid for your tickets and send my wagons 
down to haul your things back. What do you say ? 

Several Voices. — Well, massa, I reckon we'll hab to go 
since we started, an' if we don't like it den we'll come back. 

Col. J. — No, you won't, for, if you go, by the time the 
Dutch and Irish get through with you there will be nothing left 
of you to come back. Well, if you will go I'll not get mad with 
you. Come and tell me good by. [All approach and shake 
hands. Jane begins to cry.] 

• Voice. — What's de matter wid you, Jane ? 

Jane. — I don't want to leave massa. 

Voice. — Well, stay wid him den. 

Col. J. — That's right, Jane ; you've got some sense. [He 
takes Jane and goes out, and sends Uncle Billy down to talk to 
them.] 

Uncle B. (with jug in hand, and seemingly surprised). — 
Why, la me ! chillun, what's all dis mean ? Whar you gwine ? 

Voices. — We'a gwine to Kansas, Uncle Billy. 

U. B. — Why, la, me ! chillun, don't you know de grass- 
hoppers eat Kansas up long ago ? 

Voices. — No dey habn't. De Lord done kill all de grass- 
hoppers and sabed Kansas for our promised land. 

U. B. — You '11 see. Mind what I tell you. Wasn't I jig 



19 



now readiu' in de newspaper dat de grasshoppers bin in Kansas 
so tick dat dey put de sun out, and de people had to light deir 
candles at noonday, and dat dey eat up eberytiug in de fields an' 
den marched into de kitchen an' eat up eberyting dar eben to de 
dish rag. 

Hezekiah— Look here, Uncle Billy, dat won't do, fur how 
could dey eat up de dish rag widout eatiu' up de dish pan too. 
U. B.— Weil dat 's what de 'spatches say. 
[Jane is seen coming back.] 

H.— Why, la me ! iiere comes Jane. [Enter Jane.] Hal- 
loo, Jane ! what brings you back ? 

Jane.— Why, I ask massa who he 's gwine to git to. work 
fur him now, an' he say he gwine to git de Shineeman wid pig- 
tails. I tells him I couldn't stay wid dem critters, an' I turns 
back, an' he tries to cotch me, but I beats him ruunin'. 

XJ. B.— Now dat nigger am lyin', fur he tole me dat he don't 
know who he 's gwine to git ef yo' go 'way. I tell yo', children, 
dat ole massa aint dc meanest man, after all. He sees me last 
night, au' he tells me all about what he's gwine to do fur you if 
you stay. He 's gwine to be mighty good. 

H.— He ought to done some ,ob dat goodness long ago. Look 
here, Uncle Billy, do yo' tink we ought to stay ? 
U. B. — Ob course I do. 

H.— Well, I don't. Massa tell us dat we'll git nuffin up 
Norf ; well, we git nuffia here. We 's bin workin eber since 
'mancipation, an' we 's got nuffin. Ebery year massa tell us dat 
he 's gwine to do better, an' den when Christmas comes he tells 
us dat we 's in debt to him. Aint dat so, childereu ? 
Several Voices. — Dat am jis so. 
U. B. — Well, how comes dat ? 

H —How comes dat ? Easy 'nuff. Massa he comes out an' 
tells us he's gwine to settle wid us, an' takes hU pencil an' tells us 
how much he was to gib an' how much wc git from him, an' den 
he 'gins to add, an' he adds an' he adds, an' den he 'gins to mul- 
tiply, an' he multiplies an' he multiplies, an' den he 'gins to car- 
ry, an' he carries an' he carries, till he carries eberyting off, and 
den he goes to town an' he sing, "Naught 's a naught, and a fig- 
ger am a figger, all fur de white man an' none fur de nigger.^ 
An' den do yo' tink we 's gwine to stay here ? No, sah ! We 's 
gwine to Kansas if de grasshoppers eat us up an' dance on our 
grabes. Massa send you here anyway, an' we 'specks you, Un- 
cle Billy, but don't make us mad by axin us to stay here and 
work for nuffin. 

U. B.— Massa didn't send me here ; I come myself, and I 
don't kar if de truf does make you mad. I tell you dat up in 
Kansas de snow am fifty-five feet high an' de ice don t melt all 
summer. Yo' go dar now, an' if it aint so yo' jis say dat Uncle 



20 

Billy is one ob de biggest liars dat eber chased a coon in Buck 
Hollow. • 

Joe. — [Pointing to the jug.] Say, Uncle Billy, what 's dat 
yo' got in dat jug? 

U. B. — Corn juice. 

J. — Will yo' gib us some ? 

U. B. — Course I will, childeren. [All scramble for their 
cups and drink.] 

J. — Uncle Billy, aint yo' gwine to drink? 

U. B. — No, I 's done jined de Murphy club. Don't you see 
my red ribbon ? [Holds up a red rag.] Massa done jine it too. 

Jane. — Why, la me ! massa done drink wid us. Dedn't he? 

Several Voices. — Yes. 

U. B. — Well, I specks he done fell from grace. 

Jane. — Yes, an' I specks he didn't hab far to fall. [Gene- 
ral laugh.] 

U. B. — Well, now, look here, children ; it am no time to 
laugh. Dis am a serious matter. Just tink ob whar you gwine 
to leab behind. You gwine in a strange land, what you knows 
nobody and nobody knows you. You 're gwine to cross ribers, 
an' hills, an' mountains, wid nobody to show you de way, an' if 
you git lost fo' forty years in de wilderness, jus' tink ob what oje 
Uncle Billy say. You '11 hab no money when you git dar, not 
eben to buy a gingerbread. 

H. — Yes we will. Uncle Billy, for de white folks up Norf 
am takin' up 'scriptions, an' all we 's got to do when we wants 
anyting is to stand on de corner ob de street and hold out our 
hand an' say we 's from de Souf. 

U. B. — Who 's been foolin' you, son ? When de Yankees 
were down here and we gib dem de spring chickens, didn't dey 
go and take de ole hens an' look roun' fur de roosters, an' snatch 
de hoe cake off ob de griddle, and den yo' specks dey 's gwine to 
put money in your hand. I wouldn't believe dat 'cept de Lord 
himself say so. No, childeren, yo' are here, an' yo' know all 
'bout dis land — 

Voice. — We know too much 'bout it. 

U. B. — Here we 's been bawn an' growed up. Here we 's 
danced an' frolicked an' chased de 'possum an' de coon. Here 
am de ole plantation, de cabins, de meetin'-house, an' de grabes 
ob our faders an' childeren, and you 's gwine away to leab all ob 
dese? 

Several Voices. — Yes, Uncle Billy, we 's bound to go. 

U. B. — Hezekiah, can't de ole man 'swade you to stay? Yo' 
gwine to leab me ? O, no ! Remember de old man's gray bar's 
an' dat he 's trying to 'swade you for de best. 

H. — Yes, Uncle Billy, I know ; but we want to go up to de 
promised land, whar we can get lots ob milk and honey. 



21 

U. B. — Childeren, hab yo' ever taut who 's gwine to take 
kar ob yo' up dar ? 

H. — Uncle Billy, yo' 'member dat good ole song we used to 
sing : "De Lord is ray Shepherd, I shall not want"? 

U. B. — 'Deed I do. An' won't yo' sing dat for de ole man 
'fore de boat comes along ? 

Several Voices. — Ob course we will. [They sing.] 

(^Curtain falls.) 



PART IV. 



[Weeping, wailing and great lamentation, consequent on disap- 
pointment. Enter forlorn individual, shivering and cold, 
with others making their appearance from time to time, un- 
til they number about the same company that we just took 
leave of. Sick of Kansas and going to return South.] 

Hezekiah (looking about for some place to get warm.) — I 
wonder if dar am any fire here. Who-o-ee ! Talk 'bout dis yer 
Norf bein' de promised land. My Lord, de win' aint done nuf- 
fin but whistle hark from de tomb, under my coat tail since I's 
bin here Massa done tell de truf when he say dat de Souf am 
better for a black man. [Sees some one coming.] I wonder 
what forsaken lookin' contraban' dis am comin'. [Enter Jane, 
clad in rags and pretty well bundled up.] Why, bless my life ! 
if dis aint Jane. 

Jane (drawing back). — Who am you ? 

H, — Don't you know me, Jane ? I's Hezekiah. 

J. — Why, Hezekiah, how am you ? You's looking awful 
hard. Whar's you bin ? 

H. — Well, chile, I's so cold I ken hardly tell you. Aint 
you got sumfin you. ken loan me to wrap my limbs wid. [Jane 
hands him a piece of an old quilt.] Well, now look here, Jane, 
let's sit down an' talk ober t'iugs in gineral. You ask whar I's 
bin. Well, de 'mittee on 'ception of refugees sends me 'long wid 
some white man to 'Peka, and he makes me drive de bosses all 
day in de snow, an' don't gib me nuffin to eat but bean soup an' 
corn bread. He gib me nufiin but an ole coat to wear, an' when 
I ask him if dat am all he gibs me, he says dat I am a saucy 
nigger an' if I don't like dat I can jus' git up and git, an' so I 
'eludes to git. I tell you dat dis Norf won't do an' I's gwine 
back Souf. 

Jane. — Dat am jis so, Hezekiah, and I'll tell you dat de 
cullud population hab no business here. Dey send me 'lond wid 
a white woman and she makes me git up 'fore day, start de fire 
all ober de house, carry water fru de snow, an' feed de cows, do all 
de washin' an' scrubbin', an' didn't want me to go to meetin' kase, she 
say, dat de Norvern niggers would spile me an' make me no 'count. 



22 

She 'specks me to do eberythiDg, an' when I ask her for money 
she say I got no business wid it, dat I had none when I was in 
de Souf. She scolds me all de time an' talks 'bout beatin' me, 
an' I gits mad an' tells her dat she's a fool, dat no white woman 
ken beat me, dat I's free, an' den she says dat I's a saucy black 
wench, an' dribes me out ob de house an' wouldn't let me take 
de o!e close dat she gib me. I tell you dat dc^e v^ hil^ ;ojks t'ink 
kase we come from de Souf dat we don't know nuffin. But dey's 
fools. I'm gwine back to ole massa. 

Jane.— [Looking out.] Bress my life! Here am Uncle 
Pomp^y, Aunt Sally, Cmsin Sue, an' all de rest ob de folks a 
comin'. 

H.— Whar? 

J. — [Pointing to the entrance.] Look out dar. 

H. — Sure 'nuff. But I knows dey were comin', fur I gits a 
letter from Uncle Pompey. 

[Enter all, looking seedy and forlorn.] 

H. and J. — [Approaching them.] So glad yo' come. Mighty 
lonesome here by ourselves. 

Uncle Pompey. — La me, chillen, de ole man didn't 'speck 
to see yo' any moah dis side ob Jordan, [sits down] for he tinks 
dat he wud freeze to def dis winter. But de good Lord has spaw- 
ed my life an' I wants to git back to de ole plantation. We 's 
had nuffin but trials and tribulations since we 's been here. It's 
been so cold dat I feels ray bones freeze in de night time, and 
when I goes out de tears freeze on my eye- brows, an' de spit 
hangs like 'cicles on my beard. Look here, chillen, aint dar no 
fire round heah ? 

J. — Not a bit, Uncle Pompey. De man say dat dey take 
de stove out in Apral. 

U. P.— Take it out in Apral ? I should tink dey ought to 
hab stoves here all summer. Moriar, whar 's de skillet ? 

Maria. — It 's here. AVhat yo' want wid it ? 

U.P. — I'rf gwine to see if we ken hab a little fire. Joe, go see 
if you can find some pieces of brick an' a few chips an' we'll make 
a little fire in de skillet, 'nuff* to warm our fingers. Reckon white 
folks won't kar. 

• [Joe goes out and returns with the bricks and chips, and 
Uncle Pompey sets the skillet upon the bricks to keep from burn- 
ing the floor, and tries to make a fire. There is too much smoke.] 

White Man. — [Entering.] Put out that fire ! 

U. P.— Look here, white man, we 's cold an' we wants to 
hab a little fire. 

W. M.— Can't help that. I'm sorry for you, but I'm afraid 
the building might catch fire. [Puts water on it.] 

U. P. — What time does de kars git here ? 

W. M. — [Going out.] Pretty soon ; you won't have long to 
wait. 



23 

U. P. — He 's sorry, yes ! Dey say dat in de Norf a white 
man am as good as a nigger if he behabes himself, but I cvnt 
seen de fust white man behabe hisself since I 's bin here. Dey 's 
all mean. Talk 'bout dis land flowin wid milk an' honey ! Why 
I aint seen a bungle-bee, let alone any honey. If it am here de 
white folks gits it all. 

Aunt Miriah. — Well, ole man, dare aint no use gruci- 
blin. Uncle Billy told us dis 'fore we come. It aint only de 
white folks but de niggers am mean too. De fust time dat I 
went to de meetin' some ob dem was so proud dat when I goes 
to sit down dey gits 'way from me like I was some varmint. And 
sich a meetin' ! My Lord ! It was so cold dat I didn't feel de 
spirit all de time I was dar. Dey didn't sing nuffin but new 
fashioned songs, and de preacher talks 'bout de sun an' de moon 
an' de stars, and some infiddle dat he calls Kurnel Niggersoll, 
instead of preachin' de truf. No sich meetin' as we hab on de 
ole plantashun, when de sperit come down so pow'fully dat it 
makes yo' fear an' trem'le. 

Cousin Mary.— Dat am so, Aunt Maria, for I isn't felt de 
sperit sence I 's bin here. 

U. P. — [Taking a paper out of his pocket.] Look here ! I 
want some ob you chillun to read dis paper dat a cullud gen> 
men gib me de oder day when he was tellin' me 'bout a camp 
meetin dey had last summer. 

J.— I'll read it. 

U. P. — [Handing it to her.] Well, here den, read it. 

J. — [Looking at it for a moment.] Why, it aint nuffin but 
'bout a camp meetin'. Dere 's a heap ob names on it. 

U. P.— Well, read dem. 

J. — [Reading.] The followin' preachers will assist at de 
meetin' : Kev. John Jones, B. D., Rev. T. A. Jackson, B. D., 
Rev. James Lewis, B. D. 

U. P. — Dat will do, Jane ; I understans de names, but I 
want yo' to tell me what de B. D. means. 

A. M. — Ole man, I specks dat means bury de debil. 

J. — No it don't, Aunt Moriar. 

A. M. — Well, what does it mean den ? Yo' tinks yo' is so 
smart. 

J. — It means dem preachers am boss darkies. [All laugh.] 

A. M. — I know'd Jane 'ud come wid some ob her foolishness. 

Voicfi. — Some ob yo' laffin, but I 's too cold to laf— so cold 
I hab to cry. 

U. P. — AVell, now, look here, chillun. Dat am so, but we's 
had 'nuff weepin', an' wailin', an' lamentation. We 's done bin 
, fooled, but we mout as well laf as cry. Ole massa send us mon- 
ey to git back home wid, an' de bullgine will soon be here. Tink 
dat we 's gwine back to de ole home in de Souf, an' be hawpy. 
Hezekiah, sing us a good ole song. 



24 

Several Voices. — Dat's it ! Siag us a song. 
H. — Well, I 's got a new song, an' yo' must all jine iti de 
chorus. 

Voices.— All right. [Song, " I 's done been to Kansas."] 



finale. 



LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 

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